Family Man
by This is My Truth Tell Me Yours
Summary: Arthur Weasley returns home, long after midnight and discovers that his little son is still awake, waiting for him. Arthur is young and his world is at war but when he comes home he remembers exactly who he is fighting for. Set during the first Wizarding War.


_**Disclaimer:** The ideas are mine. The characters and everything else in the Harry Potter Universe belong to JK, one of my favourite authors_

* * *

"Give us a kiss."

"Why?"

"Because I need it,"

**_Jaws_**

* * *

Loud thunder roared across the sky and everything within a radius of 100 miles went dark…

Well, almost everything. Witches and wizards had never become dependent on something as unreliable as electricity, and as he walked the darkened streets of Ottery St. Catchpole, Arthur Weasley could distinguish the lights from the windows of the Burrow up ahead.

The streetlights, however, were gone, and he couldn't avoid stepping on puddles on his way. At times, the young wizard was ankle-deep in rainwater, but it didn't seem to bother him that much. He was eager to get home.

It was way past midnight already, and he was late. Being the youngest member of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office meant that he was the one left behind whenever there was extra work to complete, and for the past few months, there was always extra work to be done.

At first, it had seemed like the dream job. When Arthur started, he'd been seventeen years old, fresh out of Hogwarts, and eager. Unlike most of his colleagues, who'd been appointed to their respective Ministry positions because of family connections, Arthur got his job at the Ministry relying on his merits alone. He had graduated Hogwarts with seven N.E.W.T.s, including an Outstanding in Advanced Muggle Studies, and he had taken extracurricular classes on Muggle Music, Art, and Magical Theory. Arthur could have gotten any position his heart desired.

Most of the kids who'd finished Hogwarts that year had had their eyes on the newly open spot of junior assistant to the Minister of Magic, but Arthur had always been aiming for the dingy windowless office at the end of the shabbiest corridor at the second level of the Ministry. Professor Smith had talked about the careers that required at least an O.W.L. in Muggle Studies when they were choosing electives before their third year, and Arthur was delighted to find out about the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts department. The last thing Arthur wanted was to be stuck at a desk job in London, having to get coffee for the Minister and set up his meetings. He wanted to be out in the field, interacting with Muggles, visiting their shops and learning about their culture. He wanted to do something that mattered.

Nobody else wanted the job. Most of his classmates thought it was the most boring department at the Ministry, and Arthur's cousins on his mother's side had openly criticized his lack of ambition and drive (although, they had been careful to add, none of them had high expectations for a blood traitor to begin with). Arthur didn't care. He had been fascinated with the creative ways Muggles invented to live without magic since he was a boy. Now, he was getting paid to do something he would have done for free! He couldn't be happier.

The first few months at the job had been incredibly exciting. Arthur often had to pose as a Muggle and travel to non-magical villages and towns, tracking magical objects that might have fallen into the hands of the Muggles. That had been so much fun!

The war had changed all that.

When he first got the job, most of the time, the objects he was tracking were quite harmless. A magic kettle that started dancing when the water boiled; a talking mirror that shouted rude remarks about one's choice of clothing… Things that had fallen into Muggle hands by mistake.

Lately, however, he constantly worked in concert with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, sometimes even the Auror's office. The artefacts he had to track down now had been placed in Muggle homes on purpose. Once, he'd had to obliviate three brothers because the portrait of their dead father had been made to speak to them, driving them mad. Just three days ago, a set of silver knives had attacked their owners in the middle of dinner, and the poison in the blades had plunged the victims into a comatose state. They were still at St Mungo's, as far as Arthur knew. So far, the healers had been unable to wake them up.

The Muggles were vulnerable. It was simply too easy to cast a spell through an open window or a door. They were not safe in their own houses. And it wasn't even the work of the Death Eaters. It was too small. In the twisted logic of the Dark Lord's followers, it was too… unimportant. The perpetrators were simply sympathizers. Ordinary wizards and witches, people with families and regular jobs, who happened to support He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and wanted to do something for his cause.

Arthur was often the first to get to those crime scenes… He was often too late, only having heard of the jinxed artefacts after they had already caused considerable damage. He often failed to find the people responsible for tampering with those objects.

Today had been particularly difficult. An oriental wooden doll had been given to a small boy as a birthday present. When he was late for school the next morning, his parents went into his room, only to find that the boy was no longer breathing. He lay in his bed with the old wooden doll next to him. There were marks of polygonal wooden fingers on his neck…

The doll was actually an old magical object with an ancient curse cast upon it. It was the kind of thing that might have been bought at Knockturn Alley, although of course, none of the shops in that questionable street had any record of ever having had such an item on their shelves.

The witches and wizards from Knockturn Alley were notoriously uncooperative, and he knew he probably wouldn't get a thing out of them this evening, but Arthur had to try. He had seen the little boy in his bed, precisely where his parents had found him. His eyes were closed. It was almost as if he was asleep. His name was Aaron.

That was what had made him late tonight. Arthur had talked to each of the shop keepers himself, but there was nothing to show for his efforts. A child was dead, and he had made absolutely no progress in his investigations.

Aaron was as old as his son.

Another burst of thunder roared in the sky. Arthur fixed the scarf around his neck and walked faster.

Inside the Burrow, Arthur Weasley's hand on the family clock went from "mortal peril" to "home" at the precise moment he opened the kitchen door.

He was soaking wet when he walked in. He took off his cloak, placing it on the hanger by the door, and used a silent spell to dry himself up as best as he could.

The house was silent. His dinner lay cold over the kitchen table, and the lights were dim.

Molly was asleep in the living room, curled up on the couch as best as she could, facing the large clock on the opposite wall. Arthur knew she had probably fallen asleep watching the hand with his name, waiting for him to come back home. For the past several weeks, the hands of the clock always pointed at "mortal peril" whenever any of them was out of the house. Everyone was probably in mortal peril now, he supposed, but it was still a bit ominous having the clock pointing that out.

Walking past his cold dinner and tiptoeing his way to the living room, Arthur felt cold drops of water falling from the hair on the back of his neck and running into his collar, all the way down to his back… He really should have made a better job with that drying spell, but he hadn't been worried about it at the time… He'd just wanted to see her.

He sat on the floor very quietly and watched his wife as she slept. The Christmas tree stood at the end of the couch, near her head. Its blinking lights cast colourful frames on her face and her arm was hanging from the sofa, her fingers a few centimetres away from the floor. He adjusted the blanket over her so she wouldn't be cold. He had told her a hundred times that she did not have to wait for him when he was that late, but he might as well have been telling a river not to run. It didn't matter. He would carry her to bed later, but first he wanted to look at her for a while.

Molly was so beautiful… He loved her red hair; and her eyes; and how soft her cheeks were; and how her smile made him think of sunshine and kisses. He loved how she always listened to him. Molly really, truly listened. She wasn't like most people, who just waited for their turn to speak. She was a great mother; she knew exactly when to discipline Bill and when to leave him alone. She respected Arthur's passions deeply, even though she didn't really understand why he found Muggles so fascinating. She was brave, much braver than he was. She was a Gryffindor to her bones. Arthur felt like he was lost so much of the time…

He could stay there all night watching her sleep, trying to match the rhythm of his breath to hers.

It took him a few moments to realize that there was someone watching him from the stairs.

"Bill?" Arthur whispered, but as soon as the little boy realized he had been discovered, he ran to the kitchen.

Arthur smiled.

"I better go check on him," he whispered to Molly, as if she could hear him. He kissed her. His lips touched hers so softly, they might have been a butterfly landing. Then, he stood up and followed his son into the kitchen.

Bill was sitting by the table, next to the place where his cold dinner was waiting for him. The boy laid down his head on the table, his long red hair covering his eyes. He was pretending to sleep.

"Bill? Oh, it seems my son Bill is asleep," Arthur said, playing along and taking something out of his pocket. "It seems I'll have to eat this entire bar of chocolate all by myself."

"I'm not asleep," Bill said promptly, reaching out to get some chocolate.

The father laughed and gave him the chocolate bar.

Arthur noticed the large book on the opposite end of the table. It made him smile. He'd given Bill the Atlas as a Christmas present barely a few days earlier. Arthur had been so nervous about that Christmas morning. Molly and Arthur had never had much, but this time, Bill was old enough to be disappointed. He was old enough to remember it when he was older.

Arthur would have given anything to make this Christmas unforgettable for his son. Were it within his power, he would have gotten the boy the most expensive, most extraordinary store-bought Christmas present he could find. However, being a junior officer at the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts department didn't pay much and the prices of basic household items had been blown to the stratosphere on account of the war. It was fortunate Molly had gotten so good at food transfiguration charms. Their survival depended on it.

Another unanticipated consequence of that war was that Arthur had had to be creative with his son's present that Christmas.

"What is it?" the boy had asked, trying to rip off the wrapping paper as he spoke.

"Oh, this is a very special gift," Arthur started, in theatrical tones. "It is the most amazing Christmas present ever. It is fragile, so you will have to be careful with it. This precious artefact has been passed down through generations of explorers since the middle ages."

"What is it?"

The boy could barely contain his excitement. Bill had a passion for fantastic stories, and Arthur used to read them to him before bed every night. The boy was always talking about adventures in distant lands, sword fights, wand duels, spells and princesses in disguise…

"It was originally created by Wulfrich the bold nearly 800 years ago," Arthur continued, "but it was lost during the witch hunts and its location remained unknown for centuries until it was discovered in an excavation in Egypt by Felix Weasley, the great explorer. Felix discovered the ancestral tomb of Amenhotep, the wizard pharaoh. As a reward for discovering the tomb, Felix was told he could choose one item from the pharaoh's treasure. The tomb contained dozens of magical carpets, two enchanted lamps and mountains of gold as far as the eye could see. Felix could only choose one item, and he chose this. It's been in our family ever since, and eventually, it was passed down to me."

"What is it?" Bill asked urgently, nearly falling off his chair.

"It's called an Atlas," Arthur said finally.

"Atlas?" Bill asked. And then he added, matter-of-factly: "It's a book!"

He had finally gotten rid of the wrapping paper and was now opening the Atlas to a random page. The book was so large Bill needed both hands to flip the cover open, and once he'd taken care of that, the child was completely taken by the images.

"An Atlas is a special type of book," Arthur explained. "It's a collection of maps from different parts of the world."

Bill had loved his present. He couldn't read by himself yet, but he'd spent hours flipping through the pages of the Atlas and examining the maps. The book was not new – it hadn't been new when Arthur had gotten that Atlas from his uncle several years ago – but its magic was strong and the clouds and currents in the physical maps of the continents moved as if the book had just left the shelves of Flourish and Blotts.

"How's the chocolate?" Arthur asked, placing the child on his knees. "Did you like it?"

"Um-hm," Bill said simply, licking some chocolate off his fingers.

Arthur brushed a strand of hair away from Bill's face, placing it behind his ear. Something about that gesture made him think of the child he'd seen that afternoon. The Muggle boy, Aaron. It wasn't that Arthur had never seen death before, quite the contrary, actually, but there was something particularly terrible about the death of a child… It was like yanking away a seed from fertile soil before it had time to sprout roots and grow. He thought about the death counts, the injured men and women crowding the hallways of St. Mungo's, the fear spreading everywhere like a poisonous gas. People didn't trust each other anymore. Wherever he went, he saw brother turning against brother and people who had been friends for years cutting each other off from their lives. It was terrifying to think of his son growing up in a world like that.

He thought about the book he'd been reading to Bill just the previous night. The complete tales of Hans Christian Andersen. It was a collection of children's stories written by a Muggle author in the nineteenth century. Arthur had never known those stories when he was a child and he was having as much fun as the boy with those tales (however disappointed Bill had been at first when he noticed that the pictures didn't move no matter how much he poked them). "The Ugly Duckling" had been Arthur's favourite up until this point. He didn't want his son to grow up with any prejudices towards Muggles. He was teaching his son to respect Muggle science and art. There was a great deal to be admired there, as far as Arthur was concerned. But what if he was doing the boy harm? There seemed to be so much anti-Muggle feeling right now. The other side was winning. What if by teaching his son not to be prejudiced against Muggles, he was setting the boy up for hardship? He had never considered that. What was he supposed to do?

"Daddy, what's wrong?" asked Bill, awakening his dad from his musings.

Arthur looked at his son for a long moment, wiping chocolate out of the corner of his lips with his thumb.

"Nothing. Give Daddy a kiss."

"Why?" the little boy asked.

"Because I need it," he answered simply, and Bill kissed his dad's cheek and threw his little arms around Arthur's neck so his father could pick him up and take him to bed.

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_**Author's Note: **I would like to thank Emmeebee for beta-reading this story for me, I really appreciate your comments. Any mistakes left are entirely my responsibility. This story was inspired by what is probably my favourite dialogue in Jaws... It just seemed to fit Arthur and I really think we could all use more stories of him as a younger man. _

_Please review. I would very much appreciate the feedback. _

_**Live Long and Prosper**_


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